


In the shadow of pigs

by friendlypotato



Category: Hannibal (TV)
Genre: Canon Compliant, F/F, Falling In Love, Hurt/Comfort, Light Angst, Poetic, References to Canon, Smut
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-02-23
Updated: 2019-02-23
Packaged: 2019-10-24 14:50:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,421
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17706332
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/friendlypotato/pseuds/friendlypotato
Summary: Margot has been broken, but she is healing. So is Alana. When the two of them meet, they feel an instant connection. Together they heal a little further.A take on the Marlana relationship, with smut





	In the shadow of pigs

**Author's Note:**

> This is one of my first attempts at fanfic so I really don't know if this is any good but I thought I'd try my hand at it for the sake of murder wives.  
> Hope you'll enjoy!

Margot

The first thing she was aware of that day was the sunshine warming her cheeks. She knew she had been awake for some time, yet she had not been quite aware before that moment. The warm glow painted her hands golden and as she felt the sun tickle her skin, she remembered to take a deep breath and to enjoy the smell of earthy warmth of the early stirrings of spring. 

It scared her sometimes, the periods of being awake yet not remembering to remember, floating through moments meaninglessly. She would float for days on end and it seemed to her that the moments when the awareness flooded back into her became further apart. She wondered, sometimes wistfully, sometimes with shrill flares of panic, if she would one day stop becoming aware and float through the rest of her life, and in those moments of panic she would hate him even more.

The only moments that were worse were the moments she thought floating through would be better.

She sat in that field, basking in the light, feeling beneath her the warm damp skin of her loyal companion. She sat there for minutes that carried more meaning than the many hours before. She felt Levi’s muscles quiver as he shook off some flies, and when they turned around, back to the stables, back to the mansion, back to floating, she felt comforted by the slight sway of Levi’s slow steps, only the sight of his now relaxed lean muscles hinting at the immense speed and strength the gelding possessed.

…

She lies on her bed, her suit jacket and high heels discarded somewhere on the floor of the luxurious room. Breathing slowly, she closes her eyes, and lightly traces an invisible path along her abdomen with her slim fingers. It is an exercise she has found herself practicing often: she tries to define where exactly the pain is, and tries to visualize the hatred. Hatred and pain so often manifest as a physical ache, though the brain cannot quite identify what it is that hurts. 

She imagines the hatred for her brother coursing through the veins of her hands, possibly strengthening her when the moment arrives that she can do to her brother what she has been wanting to do for years, what she has tried to do before. The pain, however, always comes back to the thick red stripe a few inches below her navel. The scar stopped hurting some months ago, but the shame and desperation she feels for losing what was irrevocably taken from her keeps throbbing angrily just below her skin. 

Some of it was to blame on doctor Lecter. Quite a lot of it, if she thinks about it rationally. Hatred and pain are however not rational at all. She has hated Mason for so long, ever since she can remember, even though she can also remember loving him once, long ago. Though it sometimes seems strange to her, she was not truly surprised at finding she felt nothing so strong for Lecter.

Margot knew people who were capable of horrid things, and Margot had known it of her therapist. She had considered him an ally of sorts, but she had not trusted him. She had known Will Graham, and had guessed at what Will hid behind his veil, and had known doctor Lecter was a dangerous man. Though maybe she should not try to rationalize what she did and did not feel, the simple truth of it was that any emotion had paled besides what she experienced after Mason was done with her. Paled so much so, that she often felt like she was her own shadow suspended on dust.

…

She was out in the fields in the crisp early morning. The tall damp grass seemed ghostly in the foggy air, and the surroundings were of a bluish colour that reminded Margot of a film she saw a long time ago, Pride and Prejudice, the Keira Knightley version. In this scene Mr. Darcy and Elizabeth were finally on the same page and confessed their love to each other while the first rays of light filled the blue meadow with an orange glow.

Now too, the morning sun interspersed the dewy grass with rays of light and Margot found herself admiring the way the rays first touched the treetops and then brushed through Levi’s dark manes and finally set fire to the sea below their feet, stirring up insects and songbirds and tiny mice. She gazed at the millions of shades of blue and green and orange and brown around her and was reminded of that biblical phrase, or was it Blake? It had been a beautiful phrase, talking of a woman clothed in sun.

…

She is shaken back into awareness by the clicks of heels and something she can’t place. 

A stable boy must have just taken Levi after she had dismounted, yes, that must be it, she was about to put away her whip and cap.

The woman in front of her catches her somewhat of guard: the stables are not a place the Vergers usually receive these sorts of visitors. The first thing she notices about her is the smart bright red suit that she is wearing. It has the potential to look boisterous and obnoxious, but the red brings out the warmth of her chocolate brown hair and the suit is of such a design and cut that it looks both powerful and elegantly feminine. The woman is of similar height to her, a little taller with the heels she’s wearing, and as Margot looks down, she notices a dark wooden cane the woman is almost unnoticeably leaning on.

The woman looks at her. She really does, she smiles, a confident smile that hides a lot, but the woman truly looks at Margot and sees her. Oh, what a silly thing to think, reflects Margot, but she feels something stirring inside her, a need to share with this woman, a need to see this woman.

Almost subconsciously a smirk slides onto Margot’s lips.

“Lost?”

…

Alana Bloom, that is her name. Margot tosses it around in her head as she sips at her chianti. It’s a refined name, a name like a flower, but also like something stronger and resilient, like oak. It suits her well.

Alana Bloom, Mason’s new therapist. She wonders briefly what it is like to be inside her brother’s head but painful memories take over so she goes back to the woman in red. Alana Bloom. She tastes the name like a vintage wine, rolling it around in her mouth. 

Resilient indeed, despite the fact that Margot immediately felt a need to protect this being from Mason’s ugliness, she recognised that if someone other than Hannibal Lecter was to have the upper hand in an interaction with him, it would probably be Alana Bloom.

They spoke but a few words, but Margot’s thoughts cannot stop wandering back to Alana’s seeing eyes. She wanted to know what was underneath that hard shell, not by cracking it open but by carefully exploring if there was an opening and then asking ever so kindly if Alana would maybe allow her inside. She had not felt quite as aware for quite as long for quite some time.

…

Margot laid on her bed in the purple gloom of twilight. She smoothed down the soft silken bed sheet beneath her and closed her eyes contentedly. Her skin was warm and pinkish from the hot shower she had taken. The fingers of her right hand wandered down to her abdomen and she traced her scar up and down, her mind like a basin of water, the memories like a jet-black ink spill. 

She let her mind brush over the cold blue hatred in her veins, which was coursing wild as ever, and then she wondered about the pain and grief, nestled securely in the place where her child once sat. It burns less fiercely than usual, she notes with some concern. Her mind wanders off to something else entirely and she lets her fingers trail down her thighs.

She wonders about Alana’s pain. She imagines she might one day be allowed to trace an invisible path down Alana’s scars, physical and psychological. She draws a lazy circle with her middle finger over the top of her thigh, imagining perhaps circling the small of her back. She wonders who it is that hurt her and how, she wonders what the pain looks like. Then her fingers reach the inside of her thigh and she stops thinking of pain altogether, and just thinks of Alana Bloom, the flower, the oak tree, the wondrous being that came to her that morning. She wonders of pleasure and of how it would look on Alana and she trembles for a long moment, suspended on dust.

…

She comes to her after every conversation she has with Mason. Mason summons her often, almost daily even. Anyone other than Margot might assume her brother is lonely and in need of therapeutic guidance, but Margot has known him for far longer than she would like, and knows it is either because he enjoys torturing Alana, or because he sees her as a means to an end. 

She guesses it must mostly be the latter. Margot has been told some of Mason’s plans: revenge, revenge against doctor Hannibal Lecter. She knows also that this is not an idea Alana is opposed to at all. She can see it in the hardness and the anger in her pale blue eyes, eyes that tell a whole story when she lets drop a few words.

Alana comes to the mansion three times in the first week. The second week, it’s five. 

During the first few conversations, Margot decided to sit just down the hall from Mason’s room, so that Alana inevitably would meet her afterwards. There was an air of conspiration between the two women, like when in high school she and a friend make ugly drawings of their teachers in their notebooks. An easy, unspoken agreement. 

They spoke of Mason at first, of what sorts of things he said that Alana didn’t understand the full meaning of, of whatever they had discussed just now. And after that, sometimes they spoke of inconsequential things, like what book Margot had been reading, or what Alana’s plans for the weekend would be, or how the horses were doing.

Somewhere in the second week, Margot had gone to her rooms, exhausted from the long day. After twenty minutes or so, she heard a soft knocking. 

“May I come in? I’m sorry to intrude, I took the liberty of asking Cordell where I could find you. I wanted to see how you are.”

She had let Alana in, and settled back onto the sofa. Alana had sat down beside her, sliding her feet out of the high heels she had been wearing, resting her cane against the wall besides her. They had talked of Mason’s cruelty, and of how it affected Margot, always. After that, Margot always made sure Alana was sitting comfortably during their talks. 

…

A few days later the girls sat together on a big lumpy couch in a room Margot called the library, because of the walls completely covered in bookshelves. The couch stood beneath a large window, so that one could read by natural light, and it stood adjacent to a large fireplace, which was currently lit. 

They were enjoying a good bottle of red wine and each other’s company, and they were talking about Isolde, a lovely brown mare, that Margot had been training to jump. At some point, the conversation once again began to turn towards the subject of Mason, and Margot found herself recounting what he had done to her after Lecter had hinted at her pregnancy. The grief she felt for the loss of the child and the loss of a possibility of having a child, the shame at her carelessness, the pain at her brother tearing apart her entire world once again, when she thought she had closed herself off sufficiently to avoid that very thing.

Alana had held her sleek hand in her own, her blue gaze beholding her in a way that Margot felt whole, and seen. 

After that, Alana told her of her romance with the devil.

...

That night, as Margot slid underneath the cool bed sheets, she thought of Alana’s feather light touches, of her wonderful strength and compassion, of the broken yet so soft and so warm body, of every detail of Alana Bloom. She thought of what might have happened if she had turned her head just the smallest bit, and had placed the lightest butterfly kiss above her collar. She thought of slim fingers trailing through her hair and tracing maps of contentment across her body.

…

It’s about a month since that very first meeting in the stables, and they are sitting on Margot’s bed, shoes discarded somewhere on the stretch of floor, their suit jackets over the arm of the sofa. Margot is telling Alana about the pain in her abdomen, and how it sometimes helps to visualize it, to see it as part of her body, in order to be able to understand it or at least to see past it.

“Show me,” Alana says.

Margot stands up from the bed and undoes the lace from her wrap dress. She slides it off her shoulders and folds it over the arm of the sofa, and slowly walks back to the bed.

“He meant to leave a scar.” she replies, lying down next to where Alana is sitting. 

“I can tell.” Alana moves her hand to just above the highest point of the red stripe, just a bit to the right of her hip bone. Margot looks at her through her eyelashes, and Alana finds in the gaze what she was looking for, and lightly touches two of her fingers to the healed skin. Trailing her fingers down slowly, Margot lets out a soft sigh. Immediately she flushes. Alana notices and looks up. 

“Is this okay?”

“I just.. yeah I mean, is this okay with you? Is- is this what you want?”

“I.. I know it might seem like a coping method, or like funeral sex, but honestly I think that after what we’ve been through we deserve any happiness we can find, and I’ve wanted you since you smiled at me that morning I first walked into this place.”

“Oh. Oh. Well. Well you must know I’ve felt the same I- yeah, you must have- I. Yeah, this is okay.”

Encouraged, Alana places a butterfly kiss on the end of the scar closest to Margot’s belly button, feeling the muscles tighten just below the soft layer. She moves so that her knees are on either sight of Margot’s hips, and she starts slowly kissing her way up. This elicits a moan from Margot, and she sits up a bit, using one hand for support and grasping the back of Alana’s neck with the other.

Alana looks up at her and they look at each other for a long second, Margot’s pupils blown wild, Alana looking less in control than ever. Then Margot tips her head down, and Alana comes up to meet her lips in an almost frantic movement. Her eyes fluttering shut, Margot felt dazed at the intoxicating sensation of Alana’s soft lips on hers, parting slightly now to allow her hot tongue to lick at her lower lip. Margot’s mouth opens up under Alana’s kiss like a flower at the first touches of the morning sun, and Alana feels a heat unfurl in her stomach, spreading a pleasant hum of warmth along her abdomen and thighs. She places a hand on Margot’s cheek, and lets her tongue find its way to Margot’s. As their tongues gently slide together, it’s like their entire reality becomes limited to the places where their bodies touch, an electric current running along the surface of the skin.

Alana moves slightly to nibble softly on Margot’s lower lip, placing a kiss on the corner of her mouth, and moving slowly down to her neck. This has Margot gasping for air, and in a sudden need to feel more of Alana’s skin on hers, she quickly helps the woman out of her lovely scarlet blouse, tossing it carelessly across the room. 

She places her hand over her breast, brushing her nipple with her thumb.

“Is this okay?”

Alana nods shakily and places a wet kiss in the soft nook of Margot’s neck. Her mouth lingers, sucking hot kiss after hot kiss on the pale skin. That might leave a hickey later, Margot considers with a shudder of pleasure.

She slots her leg up a bit, rubbing softly between Alana’s legs. Alana lets out a shuddering moan at the friction. She reaches behind Margot to fumble with the black lace bra she’s still wearing, and Margot helps her quickly get rid of it. 

Alana starts kissing a trail from the spot on her neck to her collarbone, inching down slowly, to the soft skin of Margot’s breast, kissing a soft curve, flicking her tongue over her nipple quickly. She envelops the nipple with her mouth, flicking it with her tongue, moving her thumb to brush over the other. Margot’s body turned to a golden liquid, she reaches to Alana, gripping her hair at the base of her neck. 

“Yes, yes, keep going.. ahh” Alana uses her free hand to reach between the heat of Margot’s thighs, the skin hot and damp. She strokes the moist fabric of her cotton panties with two fingers. Unable to help herself, Margot leans into the touch, letting out a sort of desperate whine that nearly has Alana coming in her slacks right then and there. She makes quick work of getting Margot’s panties off, and moving to sit between her legs, places another soft kiss on the inside of her thigh. She leans down further, and experimentally licks once at Margot’s warmth. For a moment, she’s overcome by the intimacy of the moment, Margot spread beneath her, trembling for her, responding to her every movement, letting her in, and she, giving anything she has, open, feeling more herself than she ever had before. 

Honey drips from her lips as she looks up at Margot, and finds her already seeing her, seeing each other, and for a moment she truly can’t tell where her own body ends and where Margot’s begins. Then she lowers her head and licks a long stripe from down where slickness is pooling up to her clit, circling the mound twice. Margot grips the sheets as a low moan leaves her lips, knowing she’ll come within seconds if Alana keeps this up.

“I.. I need y-“ Alana looks up with a simmering gaze through her lashes, and while Margot can’t find any more words, Alana knows what she wants. She plunges her tongue into her entrance, drawing a half-circle and flattening her tongue against the walls inside. Margot gasps and swears in a voice that make Alana’s knees so weak that she would fall over, had she not already been positioned horizontally. In a surge of passion she wipes the sweaty hairs from her forehead and picks up a speedy but steady rhythm of pressing her tongue deep into Margot, licking halfway round the inside. Margot’s moans come rapidly, rhythmically sound to the thrusts of Alana’s thick strong tongue. Searching for grip, she knots the fingers of her right hand in Alana’s hair, a wave of tingles coursing through her body at the guttural moan this procures. Continuing the steady rhythm, Alana’s nose starts brushing against her clit with every stroke. 

“Oh god.. Oh- ohh it feels so g- oh I’m gonna-” Alana doesn’t cease, continues if anything with more force, her tongue now hitting Margot’s G-spot with each thrust. Warmth floods through Margot, starting at her very toes, and a tingle that at first just touches her breasts and her clit spreads through all of her, the force of her orgasm hitting her so forcefully that her body feels like it is being consumed by a bright hot white light, trembling and trembling for what seems like a single moment stretched to eternity.

As she comes back to herself, she sees Alana resting on top of her, looking at her through heavy lidded eyes with a searing hot gaze. Almost subconsciously a smirk slides onto her lips……

 

**Snake Charmer starts playing**

**Author's Note:**

> Thank you so much for reading! Please do give constructive criticism, I'm an inexperienced writer and English is not my first language- I'd love to hear back what you thought of it. Have a lovely day!
> 
> (Art by me, [here's my tumblr](https://thatthreetoedsloth.tumblr.com/))


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